Saviours Freedom
by Darkest Melody
Summary: A OneShot fic dealing with the pressures placed on Harry and how he finally chooses to deal with it. Contains brief mentions of abuse and suicide. Warnings: Character death


_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Any characters and situations you reconize from the Harry Potter Books do not belong to me. No money is being made from this fiction, it is purely ment for others enjoyment and reading._

**Chapter One: Numb**

It was dark and cold, but he didn't care.

Nothing really effected him anymore.

Not the abuse at the hands of his so called family. Or the painful visions that continued to plague him night after night.

He was numb to it all now, had been for a very long time; years even.

What did he care if he was slowly dying from being beaten and starved to death, it wasn't like he truly had anything to live for.

_What about Ron and Hermione?_ a little voice whispered.

His friends weren't really his friends, hadn't been since the summer before his fifth year. They were nothing more then spies sent to make sure he didn't take the same path as Tom Riddle; the so called Dark Lord. Their friendship was as hollow as the comfort they so seldom gave him. His only true friends were Hedwig and the journals he had begun keeping during his fourth year.

_Family?_

His family, hah what family, they had hated him even before his birth.

His parents were dead, he had never known them; murdered before he even turned two. His only memories of them were of their last night on earth as they died trying to protect him. Nightmares that still haunted his dreams in the darkest of nights.

_Sirius and Remus?_

They had lied to him, withheld information from him, and told him to be a good little boy and follow Dumbledore's orders. They couldn't be trusted, he was little more then a replacement of James Potter to them. Their love was as false as Sirius guilt in his parents murder.

_Dumbledore?_

The one who had lied and manipulated him the most. The Chess Master of his life as a Pawn. He was little more then a weapon to be used and discarded in that mans mind, there was no love or caring there.

He was alone, alone in the cold darkness that had started growing within him as a child. The cold and darkness nurtured in the cramped confines of his cupboard, the cold that had flourished more and more after every one of his years at Hogwarts.

For awhile it had receded, for awhile he had truly believed someone cared about him…that he had finally gotten a father in Sirius.

That belief had shattered the night he had overheard Sirius and Remus discussing him, Sirius talking about him as if he was his father reborn; when he couldn't be farther from the truth.

…that was the night his last glimmer of warmth had started to die.

He had continued to hide himself though, putting on his strong Gryffindor mask and doing everything expected of him. Acting the perfect Golden Boy and hiding his scars and emptyness.

He was tired though, he had been hiding so long and nothing was getting better.

Voldemort was still on the loose and growing ever stronger. Dumbledore was still refusing to train him for the battle he was told would come between the Dark Lord and himself. People still looked upon him with both hate and hope; laying all their expectations on his thin and slumped shoulders.

It was too much.

He was too cold now, the darkness was all he could see.

It had to end.

He would make it.

It didn't matter what anyone else thought anymore, didn't matter what expectations he was supposed to fulfill…

His life was his own, his blood was his own, and he would do with it what he had been dreaming of since he was a child locked in that cold, dark, cupboard praying for someone to help him. To hold him and chase away the darkness.

He let one final smile twist his almost bloodless lips, the first to cross his pained face in years.

It would finally end. All the pain and expectations, all the hope and hate, all the lies and manipulations…

He would finally be free….

The next morning Petunia Dursley opened her nephews bedroom door, intending to scream at him for not coming down to do the mornings breakfast dishes, only to find a scene out of her worst nightmares.

There lying as peaceful as could be was her nephew Harry Potter…in a pool of his own blood in the middle of his tiny bed.

She staggered over to the bed, hand shaking as she checked frantically for a pulse…for any sign of life in the boy. When none was forth coming she started to shriek, yelling for her husband to come, blubbering about how the freaks were surely going to kill them all now for letting the boy die while under their roof.

Vernon soon arrived, ready to throttle the brat for whatever it was he had done to upset his 'Pet'. Only to freeze in horror just inside the doorway, before starting to jibber even worse then his wife.

Ironically it was Dudley Dursley, the bane of Harry Potters young school life, who was the first to do something useful. After recovering from the shock of seeing the bloody mess that was once his cousin lying dead on the bed he called a paramedic and started to search the small room for a note; as he had heard it was common for suicide victims to leave a note of some kind. He found one of sorts on the small rickety desk on the far side of the tiny room, it was short and to the point and made little sense to the enormous boy.

To whoever finds this;

I'm tired, tired of the hopes and expectations. I'm tired of the hate and manipulations…I'm just tired.

Save yourselves, I cant do it for you anymore.

Harold James Potter

(The-Boy-Who's-Finally-Free)

There you have it. Let me know what you think in your reviews, good or bad, i look forward to reading them. I would also like to know if you'd be interested in seeing me continue this with others reactions to his death and the reading of his journals by a few select people.

Darkest Melody


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